Head of 2000-pound walrus, killed at Etah, North
Greenland.
Meanwhile the barrels were slowly drifting away down wind, and the Commander perceived that if they were to be saved immediate measures were necessary. Therefore he despatched us in the small boats to recover them. We tumbled over the side into the dories and were soon scudding before the curling seas which lay between us and the barrels. Once among the barrels, we swung our boat’s nose into the wind, and the laborious process of salvaging the barrels was begun. Koelz held us steady with the oars, and I set to work putting lines on the barrels. Leaning over the stern of a pitching dory in a rough chop and striving to maintain a grip on a heavy steel drum which was rising and falling in opposite sequence to the boat, was indeed a task not to be underestimated. It was necessary to lift the barrel partly out of the water with one hand and float a clove hitch under it with the other hand. Every pitch of the boat nearly wrenched my arm from its socket. The icy water almost froze my hands, and soon they were white and numb. We stuck to this work, however, until all barrels had been gathered and tethered into rafts. These were then anchored to prevent further drifting and left to be later picked up by the vessel.
Oomiak: Eskimo women’s boat, made of sealskins.
South Greenland kayak.
After three exhausting hours of this toil, they were all securely bound together and anchored. Then we returned to the ship. By this time the tide had fallen so far that she lay on her side at an acute angle. In fact, the incline was so great that it was impossible to stand on the deck. We had to walk along the bulwarks, and to cross the decks necessitated pulling oneself up by a rope. In the cabin one had to stand on the side walls, and the galley stove was so tilted that to cook on it was impossible. We had to make a meal of cold willy and other preparations which required no cooking. Despite the soggy coldness of it all, food never did taste better!
The hours dragged slowly by as we waited for the tide to rise. The Peary had been summoned to our aid, and she soon came hugging the far side of Herbert Island. Taking soundings as she went, she came nosing up within a few hundred feet of the Bowdoin. By the time she arrived the tide had begun to rise, and the water was slowly creeping up the deck of our ship. We clapped shut the portholes and battened down the hatches, and waited. By inches the tide rose, and the vessel began to show signs of stirring. We began taking up on the kedge anchor. The Peary was ready for immediate action, when a most astounding phenomenon took place. About a half-mile away lay a huge million ton iceberg. Suddenly we heard an ear-rending roar. We looked towards the great berg. Slowly it up-ended with great fragments hurtling in every direction, then rocked from side to side as it regained its balance. In a few seconds a monstrous swell came rolling towards us from this cataclysm, and we were lifted gently from the ledge and swept gracefully into the open water beyond. We stared aghast; could we believe our senses? Yes, there could be no doubt of it, we were free of the ledge. We looked after the great receding wave and felt that at last the baneful spell of Torngak had been shattered!
Quickly we hauled aboard the barrels, set things to rights and made all sail for Cape York. There we arrived early on the morning of August 27th, and we indeed realized that we had left none too soon, for the winds were white with winter snow. The Commander stopped for a brief visit and to present a few gifts to the Eskimos encamped there; then we squared away for South Greenland. Across the now ice-free Melville Bay we flew with a roaring boreal wind, speeding our progress home. For three days we ran dead before it with huge seas coming up from the stern and rolling under our vessel.